


Shine

by sciencefictioness



Series: Legacy [19]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kink Negotiation, Latex, Legacy Verse, M/M, Polyamory, Soft Dom Rein, dom reinhardt, mentions of Ana/Reinhardt, sub Siebren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: “Hello,” he said, holding his hand out to Siebren.  “We’ve met before, but I’m not sure you remember me.  I’m—”“Reinhardt,” Siebren finished for him, shaking his hand hesitantly.  “You’re Ana’s… partner,” he said, uncertain of the exact nature of their relationship. Married, or simply together, it didn’t make much difference in the grand scheme of things.  Everyone knew about Ana and Reinhardt. It was her club, after all.Reinhardt just grinned and nodded.“One of them yes.  May I sit?” Siebren gestured at the bar stool next to him in invitation, and Reinhardt sat with another grin.  “She has a few other partners she does scenes with, though she does tragically have to see this face most mornings.”Siebren smiled back, grateful to have a bottle of water in his hands to occupy them.“I’m sure she manages just fine.”
Relationships: Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper/Reinhardt Wilhelm
Series: Legacy [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/799938
Comments: 28
Kudos: 156





	Shine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roughlycut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughlycut/gifts).



> Silas said 'what if Siebren was a latex sub in Legacy-verse' and I said 'oh, what if he was?' and here we are. Enjoy!

He’d been standing in his closet for fifteen minutes straight without touching anything, one arm across his chest and the other palm over his mouth. The hangers were mostly full of normal clothes— dressy button-ups and slacks for work, suits for fancier academic events, a dozen or so soft, thick sweaters. There are shoes tucked neatly into a shelving unit on the floor on one side, loafers and dress shoes and a single pair of sneakers.

There are also several sealed, clear garment bags stuffed with white tissue paper, snatches of black latex visible here and there. Underneath them are a pair of shoeboxes, boots hidden away inside. Siebren wasn’t going to wear any of it, but his eyes lingered there nonetheless.

“Just stop staring at them and put one on, for fuck’s sake.”

Moira was leaning against the doorframe sipping at a glass of red wine, already dressed and ready to go. Flawless makeup, pristine nails, wearing a suit jacket with her dress shirt partially unbuttoned underneath it. It looked casual on her, good but easy. 

When Siebren wore a suit it just looked like he was headed to a lecture, or a funeral.

“I can’t just  _ wear one,  _ there’s not even an event happening tonight. I’d look—”

“Like you belonged at a kink club? Which is where we’ll be?”

Siebren had several latex outfits, and boots to go with them, bought one by one late at night when he’d had too much wine and even more misplaced optimism. They’d come in the mail, and he’d put them on once— poured a few drops of the oil they came with on them, rubbed it in until the latex shined. Felt it against his skin, all of him held tight. It wasn’t that he felt particularly attractive in them; he didn’t feel particularly attractive ever.

He felt exposed. More exposed than when he was naked, because he was  _ supposed  _ to be seen in them. Siebren felt laid bare in a way that was foreign, and terrifying, and mercilessly arousing. He stood in his room, too embarrassed to even look at himself in the mirror, running his hands lightly over the latex.

Then he took them off and cared for them, the actions always unfamiliar. He’d only done it a handful of times, but Siebren was meticulous, cleaning and drying the fabric before packing it away. It wasn’t only clothing. Siebren had cuffs and leather restraints and rope. A collar and a leash, a crop, a paddle. Things he couldn’t really use on his own, but couldn’t stop himself from buying.

Things he looked at longingly, fingers flitting reverently over them, before closing them up in one of his dresser drawers where they sat ignored.

Siebren sighed and gestured at Moira without looking at her.

“I’d be… out of place,” he said eventually. He could feel her rolling her eyes.

“Out of place in latex in a bondage club? The stuff you have is tame, it’s not like you’re going to go in there in a jockstrap and some pasties. Dear god, one of them is just a  _ shirt.”  _

It wasn’t just a shirt, really. There were too many straps and metal rings for it to be just a shirt, but Siebren didn’t argue.

“I can’t just… go in there like that. People might…” Siebren gestured vaguely as he trailed off, brows furrowed and chest tight.

“People might look at you,” Moira finished for him. It wasn’t what he’d planned on saying, but it wasn’t untrue. She walked forward and leaned her shoulder into his, looking into his closet instead of at him. “You say you want to meet someone, but you don’t go anywhere unless I drag you along. You say you want a partner to do scenes with, that you’re ready to try again, but you don’t talk to anyone at the club, even those who show interest in you. You say you’re lonely, but you don’t give anyone a chance, Sibren. You deserve something nice. You deserve _someone_ nice.” Moira made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and thrust her wine glass at him. “God, just go get me more wine while I pick out your clothes.”

Siebren didn’t bother pointing out that he hadn’t  _ made her  _ talk about anything, but took her glass and carried it into the living room to pour her wine. He headed back with it in tow, watching disinterestedly as she laid clothes out on the bed for him— a black button-up and a pair of casual slacks. She didn’t bother with shoes; Siebren’s all looked mostly the same, anyway.

“Don’t button it up all the way, you look like a preacher when you do that,” she said, walking towards the door. “Or a murderer,” she added, then left him to dress.

He’d tried to beg off when Moira told him she was taking him to the club, but it was mostly out of habit. Once he was sitting in the backseat of their Uber watching the city slip by outside his window, anticipation twisted warm inside him, tying his stomach into pleasant knots. Siebren half-listened to Moira complain about one of their lab technicians, humming when it was appropriate, thoughts running out ahead of him. To the club. To the patrons.

It had been a couple of months since he’d gone, and it was amateur night— crowds weren’t great, sometimes, but they did have their advantages.

A crowd meant no one would be paying him any attention. 

-

When they got to the club he followed Moira in, nodding at Lena in the foyer as she waved them both through the outer entrance. The bar was packed, but they wove through the crowd without pausing, heading back to the door that lead to VIP. Satya was there, shooting Moira a knowing smile when she caught sight of her.

“Greetings,” she said, holding up a red bracelet. Moira took it from her, kissing her cheek and sliding it on her wrist.

“A blue one, as well,” she said, plucking it out of the bowl near Satya and offering it to Siebren.

“Moira,” he said, ready to protest, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Siebren,” she said, exasperated. 

“Fine,” he said, letting out a rough breath and nodding.

Arguing with her wasn’t worth the effort, and he knew she was right; he’d never meet anyone if he didn’t try, at least a little, and dating was harder for Siebren when he didn’t start somewhere like Overwatch. He knew what he liked, sexually speaking, but bringing it up with someone he met through work or the university was well beyond his comfort zone.

At least at a kink club, everyone knew what to expect from him, at least to a degree. It had been years since he did any play with a partner, and only once after he’d broken up with his last steady Dom after things had gone spectacularly wrong between them. Even now it was nerve-wracking to think of doing a scene with someone, but he also missed the feeling; being owned, however briefly.

Being tied down and used.

Siebren took the blue bracelet— red for Doms, blue for subs— and slid it on his wrist with a sigh.

There was already a demonstration happening on stage, a Dom and his collared sub doing some sort of rope work. The place was even more crowded than the bar, all of the couches and chairs and benches that were scattered around the room already occupied. Moira and Siebren took a seat at the juice bar where they could see the stage, even if neither one of them had any real inclination to pay attention. Siebren wasn’t really interested in shibari, and Moira was well past being an amateur at anything where kink was concerned.

They made quiet conversation, Moira talking about a sub she’d once had who dislocated her shoulder during a scene they’d been doing with ropes, and had to be taken to the hospital. It was a story he’d heard before, but he’d heard most of Moira’s, and she’d heard most of his; neither one of them minded hearing them again, and if he started talking about work Moira would either complain or go off on a tangent and he didn’t have the energy for either.

It could have been a coincidence, except for the way Moira looked over his shoulder and smiled. 

Siebren furrowed his brows, turning to see what she was smiling at; maybe Olivia or Angela had shown up after all, despite saying they probably couldn’t make it. Or maybe she’d caught sight of a pretty sub she’d never met before, and was ready to abandon him for a while to try her luck. 

Except when he finished turning, it was neither.

There was a man standing on the other side of him, part of his long white hair pulled up into a bun, the rest falling loose around his shoulders. Big enough that he dwarfed Siebren, which was no easy task, biceps straining at his shirt. He had scars on his face, scars on his throat. More on his hands. Handsome enough to make Siebren forget his words for a moment, smiling softly.

He wore a purple bracelet on his wrist— purple for switches. He wasn’t a stranger; Siebren had seen him a dozen times at least, even met him before on a couple of occasions, if only in passing. He’d never been wearing a purple bracelet before, or any bracelet at all.

Usually he was collared. Sometimes at Ana’s feet.

“Hello,” he said, holding his hand out to Siebren. “We’ve met before, but I’m not sure you remember me. I’m—”

“Reinhardt,” Siebren finished for him, shaking his hand hesitantly. His own bracelet was clearly visible; Reinhardt’s gaze caught on it, but didn’t linger. “You’re Ana’s… partner,” he said, uncertain of the exact nature of their relationship. Married, or simply together, it didn’t make much difference in the grand scheme of things. Everyone knew about Ana and Reinhardt. It was her club, after all.

Reinhardt just grinned and nodded.

“One of them yes. May I sit?” Siebren gestured at the barstool next to him in invitation, and Reinhardt sat with another grin. “She has a few other partners she does scenes with, though she does tragically have to see this face most mornings.”

Siebren smiled back, grateful to have a bottle of water in his hands to occupy them.

“I’m sure she manages just fine.”

He glanced towards Moira, always uncomfortable when he had to carry on a conversation with someone on his own, but she was nowhere to be seen. Reinhardt had shown up, and she’d vanished almost immediately. It wasn’t a coincidence.

Siebren didn’t believe in coincidence.

When he turned back, Reinhardt shrugged.

“She hasn’t thrown me out yet. You’re Siebren, yes? You work with Moira at the lab.” Siebren nodded, taking a sip of his water; he wasn’t thirsty. He just didn’t know what to say. “In the interest of being honest, she  _ might _ have told me she was bringing you tonight. Said she thought we might like to get to know each other better. A blind date of sorts, except that it looks like you didn’t know.”

Siebren flushed and looked down at his lap. He’d known Ana had more than one partner, but had never seen Reinhardt with anyone else. He’d always assumed Reinhardt had been monogamous.

Apparently not.

“It seems I’ve been set up. I’m sorry, I— she didn’t tell me. She knows I’m… she knows how I am, I suppose.”

Reinhardt huffed a soft laugh.

“No need to apologize. I can only speak for myself, but she wasn’t wrong. I have seen you around before, and I  _ would _ like to get to know you better, but you always seemed very reticent to talk to anyone. If you’re not interested, that’s fine too. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Siebren shook his head, taking another long pull off his water bottle before setting it down again.

“No, I… I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just also… not good. At this.”

Reinhardt reached out and squeezed his wrist, and Siebren’s breath caught; even such a small gesture was more physical contact he’d had from anyone besides Moira in months.

“Would a drink help?” Reinhardt asked carefully. “Since we’re only talking.”

Siebren kept his gaze on his hands and nodded so fast that Reinhardt let out a bark of laughter, then patted him on the shoulder.

“Let’s go have one, then. My treat.”

They headed towards the outer bar together, Reinhardt close enough that their arms brushed together. On the way there Siebren saw a flash of red hair and found Moira grinning at him from across the room, a tiny blonde in a leather jacket and a blue bracelet leaning into Moira’s space to talk. Siebren pinned her with a glare— even if things worked out it didn’t excuse Moira taking it upon herself to set him up on a date without his knowledge. She shrugged one shoulder, looking utterly unapologetic.

She mouthed ‘you’re welcome’ as Siebren slipped out of VIP and into the bar itself.

“What would you like?” Reinhardt asked as they sat down next to one another, the music thumping loudly overhead.

Wine was usually what Siebren chose, when he drank at all, but if he was going to do anything besides mumble and nod he needed something stronger.

“Gin, I suppose.”

His drink burned all the way down, as did the second one, but by the time they’d settled warm and heavy in his stomach his nerves had all but faded away to leave him smiling at Reinhardt; laughing at his jokes, leaning into his casual touches. A hand on Siebren’s forearm, Reinhardt’s thigh against his own.

Reinhardt touching his face, once, lifting his chin with his fingers and saying something soft in German.

It was hours later when Moira came to find him, the faintest hint of worry on her face. It vanished when she caught sight of him at the bar, hiding a smile behind his hand and listening to Reinhardt talk, and talk, and talk. 

He left Overwatch with several things he hadn’t had when he arrived; a date for the following Wednesday. Reinhardt’s phone number. 

A general kink negotiation sheet Reinhardt had retrieved from the VIP section and handed him with a grin,  _ you show me yours and I’ll show you mine. _

Siebren and Moira left together, Reinhardt giving his hand a long squeeze,  _ text me, okay, Liebling? _

He’d nodded dumbly and let Moira drag him outside.

Then he’d smiled, and laughed once, and Moira teased him all the way home.

“I’m still mad at you,” he said as they got out of their Uber, both of them weaving on their feet as they climbed up the stairs of Siebren’s porch.

“No you aren’t,” Moira replied. Siebren sighed as he slipped his key into the deadbolt.

“No I’m not, but that doesn’t make it right for you to just do as you please without asking me.”

They staggered into his house, not bothering to turn on the lights as they went. 

“I just… I want you to be happy. You know I just want you to be happy, Siebren.” They’d both stopped in front of his bedroom door. Sibren nodded, too fast, too many times.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just… it’s hard sometimes. I am already thinking of all the ways things can go wrong before they’ve gone anywhere at all.”

Moira reached up and grabbed his shoulder, holding his gaze with terrifying intensity.

“I am… too drunk, to have this conversation properly, but for now just… don’t do that, okay? Reinhardt is decent, and he’s not going to hurt you on purpose any more than you ask for. Just give him a chance.”

Siebren nodded again, and Moira patted his shoulder hard a handful of times before trudging down the hall to the guest bedroom. He pulled off most of his clothes and left them piled on the floor, crawling into bed and hugging his pillow to his chest. When he blinked drowsily through the darkness, he realized he was still wearing his blue bracelet.

Siebren closed his eyes, the world spinning just a little, and thought of how Reinhardt’s hands had felt on his skin.

-

It had been a while since Siebren had played with someone, but he was no stranger to a kink negotiation. A lot of people who were active in the community didn’t bother filling out forms, but it was easier for Siebren to write things down than to try to discuss them in too much depth with someone he barely knew. Maybe he’d get to the point with Reinhardt where he could talk openly about what he wanted or didn’t want in a scene without staring at his hands and flushing like mad, but he definitely wasn’t there yet.

Siebren didn’t know if he’d ever get there.

They sat opposite one another, tucked away in a corner booth at some cafe Siebren had never been to before, each of them with a stack of papers laid out in front of them. The first few pages were less than scandalous, a series of matter of fact questions.  _ Who will be participating? Who, if anyone, will be watching? Who is the Dominant? Who is the submissive? Where will the scene(s) take place?  _

Most of it was easy— just basic information— and they’d already discussed having the scene at the club. Seibren didn’t have any concerns about his safety with Reinhardt. He was Ana’s sub, and they’d both been in the scene a long, long time.

Ana didn’t tolerate questionable bondage practices at the club. Siebren couldn’t imagine that Reinhardt would be any less considerate.

There was a list of questions relating to health issues,  _ does the submissive have a history of: carpal tunnel? Heart problems? High or low blood pressure?  _ Underneath that are questions about sexually transmitted infections and testing, the use of condoms. Siebren was mostly healthy, but kneeling for long periods of time was out of the question, and he’d slipped a page of clean STI results into the back of the form he’d handed over to Reinhardt.

There are more specific questions about consent.  _ Does the submissive wish to resist? Is resistance considered a ‘strong yellow’? What will the submissive call the Dominant?  _

On the the form in front of him, written in swirling cursive in the last blank, was  _ Reinhardt, Rein, or sir.  _

Siebren flushed bright again at the thought.

Only after several pages of this did the more typical kink list appear, separated into various sections, all the activities followed with options for yes, no, maybe. Some of them had follow up questions— asking for elaboration, or exceptions.

Reinhardt’s form was a lot more detailed than Siebren’s own. 

There were little notes jotted here and there. Some things were underlined for emphasis, mostly for the things he’d marked as hard nos. It wasn’t just the obvious or more extreme things. No humiliation or degradation. No name calling. No ruined orgasms or denial. 

In the section for sadism and masochism, Reinhardt had circled the next to last option,  _ Dominant refuses to inflict high levels of pain. _

Something in Siebren unwound, and it was easier to breathe. 

They glanced over one another’s answers in silence for a while. There was nothing in Reinhardt’s responses that Siebren found objectionable— as far as kink went, he seemed fairly tame. Reinhardt let out a huff of laughter, and Siebren glanced up with furrowed brows.

He’d filled his form out in black ink, but there on one of the last pages was a splash of glittery purple circling the word ‘latex’ a half dozen times.

“Moira?” Reinhardt asked with a grin as he pointed to it, and Siebren rolled his eyes with a put upon sigh.

“Yes,” he said, looking anywhere but Reinhardt. Reinhardt hummed. Siebren could feel him staring.

“Is she wrong?” 

Siebren reached for his coffee, lifting it to his mouth and watching the liquid swirl. It was almost empty— they’d sat and talked a while before pulling out their respective negotiation sheets.

“She’s… not.”

Reinhardt marked something down on Siebren’s papers. Siebren couldn’t bring himself to look.

“On yourself, I presume?” Siebren nodded as he took a slow drink of coffee, and Reinhardt hummed again. “Well, you can wear whatever you like. Or bring it with you, if you don’t feel comfortable wearing it to the club. I’m certainly not going to complain.”

Reinhardt winked, and Siebren flushed and looked away again.

He tried not to pay attention to exactly where Reinhardt was in his papers, but it was hard to miss when he got to the end. The last question was one Siebren had hesitated to answer. He had, eventually, but only because Moira wouldn’t stop nagging about it.

_ Have you had any significant bad experiences in the past that might affect your enjoyment of a scene? _

He could have left it blank. It was the sort of thing that a lot of people weren’t comfortable discussing with new scene partners; no one would hold it against him if he didn’t feel like dredging up old wounds. Moira was stubborn, though, and persistent, and Siebren had filled it in with a few lines of neat print that were so far from telling the whole story that it was laughable.

_ Previous partner repeatedly ignored safewords, disrespected established boundaries, and inflicted excessive punishments. _

It all sounded so sanitized in black and white, worded politely with no lurid details. On paper, it felt like it had happened to someone else, but Siebren remembered.

Siebren remembered waking up alone, every movement agony, feet bruised so badly he couldn’t put his weight on them without limping. Siebren remembered teeth marks scabbed over on the inside of his thighs.

Siebren remembered being gagged, choking on silk as he tried to beg,  _ please, it’s enough. _

It had not been enough. It would never have been enough.

Reinhardt’s smile shifted into a scowl, but to his credit he didn’t push for more information. It had been difficult enough to write down in the first place.

Siebren didn’t think he was capable of discussing it sober, in the light of day, sitting in the corner of a coffee shop with snatches of other conversations floating through the air around them.

After a few moments Reinhardt nodded, shuffling all the papers together and smiling again.

“Let me look this over and figure something out. Once I do, I can tell you what I’d like to do with you, or it can be a surprise. Do you have a preference?”

Siebren fidgeted, sliding his coffee mug back and forth between his hands.

“Either… either one is fine. Whatever you would like.”

Reinhardt’s smile shifted wider.

“A surprise, then. I’ll see you at the club on Saturday, around nine?” Siebren nodded, and Reinhardt returned it, getting up to his feet. “I’ll text you, yes?”

“Ah, yes. Certainly.” Siebren stood up as well, reaching out on autopilot to shake Reinhardt’s hand, ingrained professionalism making him act before he thought it through. Reinhardt took it, then didn’t let go, holding on for a long moment until Siebren met his eyes again.

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?” 

Siebren blinked at him. He’d very firmly circled ‘yes’ when his forms had asked about kissing and other displays of affection, but he’d expected it all to take place during the scene. Still, he wasn’t opposed. He nodded again, fingers laced together in front of himself, eyes flitting from Reinhardt’s face to the floor and back again.

“I- yes. That’s… yes.”

Reinhardt smiled again, reaching up to lift Siebren’s chin with his fingers. He leaned in slowly, and Siebren’s eyes closed of their own volition.

Reinhardt pressed his lips to Siebren’s cheek, softly, gently. Pressed them to his mouth, once. It was barely a kiss at all.

“I will see you soon, Liebling.”

When Siebren opened his eyes again, Reinhardt was still staring. 

“Yes.” It was all he could manage. 

Reinhardt ran his thumb over Siebren’s bottom lip, then gave his arm a squeeze before heading out the door.

Siebren sat down again, dizzy all of a sudden as he pulled out his phone to call Moira. To thank her.

To yell at her.

Siebren wasn’t sure.

-

He’d gotten a text message Saturday afternoon,  _ see you later tonight? _

He’d answered with a simple yes. He had a lot of thoughts— about Reinhardt, and their scene— but none of them he was willing to type out; not now.

Not ever.

Siebren got to the club a half hour early in spite of spending a solid twenty minutes arguing with Moira about his clothes. No amount of nagging was going to convince him to show up to his first scene with a new partner in an elaborate latex fetish outfit, though, and eventually she gave up trying. They parted ways as soon as they got to the club, Moira heading to get a drink. Giving Siebren a chance to turn tail and run, maybe.

Giving him a chance to take this last step on his own without her prodding.

Even a half hour early, Reinhardt was already there waiting for him at the bar in VIP. Ana stood nearby, the two of conversing quietly about something. When she caught sight of Siebren approaching she smiled, nudging Reinhardt on the shoulder. Reinhardt glanced over, grinning wide and standing up to greet him.

“Siebren,” he said, pulling Siebren into a hug. 

It startled him for a moment, but Reinhardt was warm, and big enough to surround him; it felt so good to be held like that, even briefly. Siebren returned the embrace, giving Reinhardt a somewhat awkward pat on the back. When Reinhardt pulled back Ana was there, hand extended out to Siebren. He took it with a nod, Ana closing her other hand over his as they shook.

“Good to see you again, Siebren. You’ll tell me if he misbehaves, yes?” Ana winked, and Siebren huffed a quiet laugh.

“I never misbehave!” Reinhardt said with faux indignance, and Siebren laughed as well.

“Of course,” Siebren said to Ana, and she gave his hand one last squeeze and let it go.

“Okay, I have orders to finalize. You kids have fun!”

She patted Siebren on the shoulder as she walked past, headed towards a door behind the bar. Reinhardt put a palm on Siebren’s lower back, just a hint of pressure.

“It’s a bit early, but I have a room ready for us, if you’d like to go ahead and get started?”

“Sure,” Siebren said, nodding, and then followed Reinhardt into a back hallway where there were rooms for people to use for scenes. 

It was relatively early, but there were still a few occupied— doors closed and locked for people who wanted privacy, doors open for those who welcomed company or an audience. They headed all the way down the hall into the last room on the left, Reinhardt closing the door behind them. All of the rooms had hooks in the walls and ceiling to secure ropes or chains to, as well as a small bathroom and fridge, but were otherwise appointed a bit differently; some of them had leather couches and footstools. Kneelers, or furniture that was closer to a leather bed than anything else. Tiled floors surrounded by drains. 

The room Reinhardt brought him to had what looked like a massage table dominating most of it with a couch tucked away in the corner, a small wooden table sitting next to it with a bottle of some kind of oil on top. There was a backpack on the floor with the club’s logo— Reinhardt’s, undoubtedly. It was yawning open, clothes and wet wipes and what might have been a blanket inside. 

Reinhardt paused to kick off his shoes near the door, so Siebren followed suit, lining them up neatly against the wall. 

After that Reinhardt started unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a plain black t-shirt underneath, but when Siebren tried to do the same, he reached out and grabbed both of his hands.

“I want to undress you,” he said, nudging Siebren backwards until he bumped into the padded table behind him. “This time, and any other time we do a scene together.” Siebren nodded his agreement, and Reinhardt smiled. “Good. Thank you.”

Reinhardt worked the buttons on Siebren’s shirt open slowly, dragging his palms over the black undershirt beneath it when he was finished. He shoved it off Siebren’s shoulders, drawing the sleeves off his arms and then laying it neatly on the couch behind him. Siebren’s undershirt was tucked into his slacks, and Reinhardt tugged it free, lifting it up and over Siebren’s head. 

Once he was shirtless Reinhardt paused, running his hands over Siebren’s exposed skin. Siebren flushed and let his gaze drop to the floor. He wasn’t in bad shape, but there wasn’t anything remarkable about him either. Yet Reinhardt drank him in, palms moving languid up his stomach and chest, tracing the curve of his throat, running down the length of his arms. He pulled Siebren a couple of steps away from the massage table and walked around behind him, laying his hands over Siebren’s trapezius muscles, drawing them down his shoulders, curling them around his waist.

It had been years since he’d been touched this way— leisurely. Lingering. It had his breath catching in his throat, had him responding. His heartbeat picked up. He felt warm all over.

Siebren was hard, just from Reinhardt’s hand trailing a lazy path up and down his body. He stepped up behind Siebren, his chest flush against Siebren’s back, and reached around him with both arms to take hold of his belt. Reinhardt rested his chin on Siebren’s shoulder, looking down as he unfastened his belt, along with the button his slacks, letting them drop.

“Oh,” Reinhardt said, mouth moving against the curve of Siebren’s shoulder, a hand splayed over his hip. “I did wonder.”

Siebren hadn’t been brave enough to wear anything too dramatic, but he did finally give in to Moira’s endless insistence and put on a pair of latex briefs. They were black, and tight enough not to leave anything to the imagination. Siebren’s cock was obvious, straining at the shining material.

Reinhardt ran his fingers over the latex. Eased them just underneath to feel the way they gave.

“Up on the table, let’s get the rest of these clothes off,” Reinhardt said, stepping out from behind him and backing Siebren against the table.

He hopped up onto it, feeling a little silly as his slacks pooled around his ankles, belt still dangling from the loops. It didn’t last long; Reinhardt dropped to one knee and pulled off his slacks, taking the belt out and folding them, depositing both neatly on the floor in front of the couch. Siebren’s socks came last, tugged gently off his feet and tossed on top of his shoes.

Reinhardt gave Siebren’s legs the same treatment as the rest of him, letting his hands circle Siebren’s ankles and slide up the back of his calves. He pressed a kiss to Siebren’s ankle, then his knee, before standing up and rubbing his palms slowly up and down Siebren’s thighs.

“Lie face down for me, darling. Hands by your sides.”

Siebren obeyed, fitting his face into the circular hole in the table. Reinhardt touched his ankle, trailing his fingers up the length of his whole body, squeezing the nape of his neck before stepping away. There was the click of a bottle opening, then Reinhardt’s slick hands coating his back in oil.

“It’s silicone based, so it shouldn’t be too hard on your latex. I’d like to leave them on you, if that’s alright.” Siebren gave a nod, and Reinhardt hummed. “Perfect. Just relax for me. We’re in no hurry.”

He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect of their scene, especially since Reinhardt hadn’t mentioned anything, but it wasn’t a massage. All the Doms he’d ever been with had been eager to put Siebren through his paces, one way or another. Spankings, teasing, intense restraints. Most of them acted as though they had something to prove, and Siebren didn’t exactly relish that aspect of it, but he wanted things from sex that someone vanilla would be hard pressed to expect, let alone provide.

Then Reinhardt started massaging his shoulders, and Siebren had a hard time expecting anything at all. 

Reinhardt was  _ strong.  _ It was no surprise for someone his size, someone with his muscle definition, but looking at his hands and  _ feeling  _ them working at the knots in his back were as different as night and day. He dug his thumbs in, rubbing them in slow, deep circles. Siebren groaned before he could stop himself, tension he hadn’t known he was carrying seeping out of him in a wave.

“There you go. Just let me take care of you. You’re like a wire about to snap.”

Siebren didn’t doubt it. 

Reinhardt alternated between rubbing with his thumbs and fingers to dragging his palms down Siebren’s back to sliding his knuckles over his skin. He started with his neck and shoulders, working his way down, Siebren turning to liquid under his hands. At first the sensation was utterly unfamiliar— someone touching him, warm skin on warm skin. The weight of it as Reinhardt massaged every bit of him with relentless thoroughness. He paused now and then to add more oil.

He murmured soft praise, telling Siebren how gorgeous he was like that, how perfect. How good he was doing, except Siebren wasn’t doing anything at all. Siebren flushed at the words, grateful that his face was hidden and all he could do was curl his toes and take it.

It was too easy to sink into the feeling of Reinhardt coaxing him further and further into a blissful haze. It was drugging, someone strong and sure and eager working him over, inch by agonizing inch. Siebren’s eyes fluttered closed, and he drifted in the drag of Reinhardt’s hands as they moved down his spine, lingered on his hips. He groaned now and then, or let out ragged little breaths when something felt so good he couldn’t help himself.

Reinhardt stopped there, moving down to Siebren’s feet instead, tracing a wet finger up the arch of one.

“Ticklish?” Reinhardt asked, and Siebren hummed, unable to find the right words. Or any words at all. He lifted the foot in offering instead, and Reinhardt laughed. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

It was only after Reinhardt started massaging his feet that Siebren thought to be nervous about it. One of his previous Doms had caned his feet almost bloody once, leaving Siebren bruised and unable to take a step without excruciating pain. It had been their last scene together, and Siebren had told the last partner he’d tried doing a scene with not to touch them at all. He hadn’t bothered marking them down as a limit for Reinhardt.

The idea of Reinhardt hurting him seemed absurd, even if he barely knew the man. Reinhardt’s thumb dug into a particularly sore spot on the arch of his foot, and Siebren moaned, hips grinding forward against the padded bed.

“Feeling good, darling?” Reinhardt asked. Siebren just whined, eliciting a dark chuckle. “You’re doing beautifully.”

He finished with Siebren’s left foot, working his way up Siebren’s calf, hands massaging at the meat of his thigh before he let go entirely and started on the right side. It was slow, and meticulous, and Siebren was painfully hard by the time Reinhardt’s thumbs were massaging deep circles just under the swell of his ass. He’d skipped over it before, and Siebren expected him to so so again, but then he eased his thumbs higher, silicone oil making them slide effortlessly against the latex.

He couldn’t help the way he raised his hips up into the touch, hands coming up by his face to cling to the table. Reinhardt was just as thorough here as anywhere else, paying careful attention to every part of him, even as he rocked into the contact. Still, he finished fairly quickly, giving Siebren a soft pat on the outside of one thigh.

“Turn over for me. Scoot down the table a bit.”

It was harder than it should have been, but Siebren felt almost drunk. Reinhardt helped him roll over, moving down until his head was firmly on the padding, body slick against the leather. He had a moment of vicious embarrassment about just how hard he was, all of it on obvious display now.

As the shyness swelled Reinhardt wrapped a piece of silk around his eyes, knotting the blindfold just behind his ear, and the whole world fell away.

“Better?” Reinhardt asked, and Siebren nodded gratefully. It was so much easier this way, being seen without having to be aware. “I thought it might be. Lift your hands over your head, let me get you comfortable.”

Siebren lifted his hands, only a little surprised when there was more soft silk wrapped around his wrists, binding them carefully in place over his head. It wasn’t uncomfortable, nor did the knots feel tight, but when he tugged there was enough resistance to remind him he was bound.

“Mmmm, perfect. Relax for me again, alright?”

It was impossible to do anything else. Reinhardt poured more oil on Siebren’s chest, giving it the same treatment as his back. He massaged at Siebren’s pectorals, slid his palms in lazy circles on his abdomen. 

Then there was the sound of shuffling, and something shifting, and suddenly Reinhardt was straddling his thighs, knees on either side of Siebren on the table.

“Shhh,” Reinhardt said, and Siebren realized he’d been whining, rolling his hips shamelessly against him. “Easy. Relax.”

He wasn’t relaxed anymore, not really; he had just drifted so far that even the vicious want eating him alive couldn’t pierce entirely through the fog in his head. Reinhardt started kneading at his chest against, and for a moment, Siebren thought he was simply going to finish his massage.

Until he laid his palm directly over Siebren’s cock, rubbing at him where he bulged in his briefs.

_ “Oh,”  _ Siebren said, grinding up into his touch, lips parting on a gasp.

“Siebren, you’re so gorgeous like this,” Reinhardt said, palm moving in slow circles against him, his other hand curled around Siebren’s hip. “You’re so good for me. Relaxing so easily, letting me touch you.” He pressed harder on Siebren, rubbing insistently up and down the length of him. “Nervous about dressing up for me, but you did anyway. You don’t need to keep quiet, darling. Let me hear you.” Siebren let out a whimper, long and low and wounded as he rutted into Reinhardt’s palm. “Perfect. Just like that. Just for me.”

Siebren shook all over, arching underneath Reinhardt as he stroked him through the latex. He was dizzy, tugging on the silk at his wrists, just enough to feel them pulling. Reinhardt was too heavy for him to get his feet underneath him, to find any purchase on the leather. He was going to come like that, trembling and mewling with his hands reaching for something, for anything.

“You feel so good,” Reinhardt said.

It was all the warning Siebren got before he leaned down and kissed him. Siebren made a noise, somewhere between a moan and sob, opening for Reinhardt as he licked into his mouth. His head was spinning, and there was a roaring in his ears.

Then Reinhardt laid his cock over Siebren’s, flattening his palm over himself and pressing tight so they were snug against one another, only a slick layer of latex between them. He was just as hard as Siebren, but bigger by far. Siebren’s chest heaved.

“Oh, Liebling,” Reinhardt murmured against his lips, and started fucking into the tight space between his hand and Siebren, both of them wet and desperate.

Siebren whined. Siebren quaked.

Siebren came in hot bursts, twitching and shuddering through it, and Reinhardt just kept going. Until Siebren was oversensitive, hitching little gasps muffled in Reinhardt’s mouth. Until Siebren’s thighs were twitching, body trying to curl up, to escape the sensation.

Until Reinhardt was coming over his stomach, panting against his open mouth, “Oh, Siebren, yes.”

Reinhardt fell down on top of him, heavy enough that it should have been suffocating, but Siebren only felt safe. There were a few tugs at his wrists, and the silk came loose, letting him wrap his arms around Reinhardt’s neck. The blindfold came next, and Siebren was blinking his vision back into focus, looking up drowsily to find Reinhardt smiling and touching his face.

“You are  _ lovely,  _ Siebren. Let me lie here with you a moment, and then we’ll get you cleaned up and showered, and maybe you’d let me hold you on the couch a while and kiss you.”

Siebren nodded, then swallowed, struggling to find his voice.

“Yes, I’d… I’d like that. Thank you.”

Reinhardt smiled and kissed him once more on the mouth, more chaste than he had all night, and tucked his face into Siebren’s throat with a contented sigh. He thought he’d fallen asleep for a moment, but after a while he got up and coaxed Siebren out of his briefs before herding him into the shower. Reinhardt managed to help him wash away the worst of the oil without getting himself totally soaked, then gently dried Siebren off before tugging him down on the couch and covering him up with the blanket he’d brought.

They kissed for a long time. When they were done Siebren could have slept straight through into the next morning. He didn’t, but he did close his eyes and drift a while, and Reinhardt held him close like he wouldn’t mind.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things, here or on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/scifictioness)


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